I HEARD at the weekend that the American preacher who told us all that the world was going to end last month has unfortunately suffered a stroke.

According to his faithful followers, Harold Camping is now recovering in hospital near his home, but his speech “has become slurred”.

One wonders if his condition was brought on by the frantic pace of the back-pedalling he was forced to do on May 21 when Armageddon failed to materialise and his followers remained firmly planted on earth, rather than enjoying a celestial afterlife, as promised by Camping.

Any of you who were worried about how Camping and his adherents were going to overcome this slight knock to their credibility can now take comfort.

Following a re-jigging of the biblical calculations which Camping used to predict fire and brimstone last month, the depressing date with destiny for us all has now been rescheduled for October 21.

This is great news for me personally because my five-year-old son’s birthday is October 21 and I will not have to spend the day at a Wacky Warehouse organising a party for 20 sweaty, screeching kids. In fact I might take a gamble and hope the apocalypse happens early in the morning then I can get away without buying any presents too.

But what if the unthinkable happens and Camping is wrong again? What if we wake up on that autumnal October morning to find that the cities of the world have not crumbled, that the seas are not boiling and that Ryan Giggs’s love life is still dominating the tabloid front pages.

Fear not, for I have found a way to come out a winner either way. I have come up with a cunning plan which means you are going to be smiling on October 21 whether you draw back the curtains to global chaos or not.

Now if you will remember the days in the run up to May 21, Camping had managed to build up quite a following of believers who wanted us all to know that judgement was nigh.

What you need to do is find one of the said followers and challenge them to a little wager. Lay down a thousand pound bet that the world will not end on October. In fact, hell, let’s make it a million.

Some of these people spent their life savings and children’s college funds on preparing for doomsday (yes really) so they might be willing to turn a pious eye away from the ills of gambling on just this one occasion.

Anyway, let’s say I find one of these folk and I say: “I bet you a cool million the world won’t end on October 21.” If they are firm in their convictions they will shake.

So let’s fast forward to that fateful date. Oh no, I’ve lost my bet and the earth is a charred husk and I was wrong and now I’m in debt to the tune of a cool million.

Well come and find me – I will be at my desk in Walmgate (it takes more than Armageddon to halt The Press). We can take a walk to the smouldering rubble that was once Lloyds TSB and I will reach in to the shattered vault and grab you your cash. Have a ball with it on the way to heaven. I’m not a sore loser.

If, however, it turns out that I was correct, and the world still turns on October 21, then as I said, I will be at my desk at The Press.

You can give me a call because presumably the phone lines, along with the rest of civilisation will still be functioning, then we can meet up and settle our bet like gentlemen.

I take cheques and cash – Barbados here I come.